“They’ve all got tough spots,” Johnny replied quietly. “Where the limbs have been cut off.”
“Oh, the knotty pines!” Jack laughed again. “Roll ’em into the fence row an’ leave ’em. That’s the way we do.”
“We don’t,” said Lawrence. “We aim to take them as they come, tough or not tough, they’ve got to bust.”
“Why?” Blackie fixed his piercing black eyes on the boy.
“I—I don’t know why,” was Lawrence’s slow reply. “I can’t explain it right.” The boy hesitated. “But I—you know—I sort of hate being licked, even by a tough log. So I—we sort of take ’em as they come.”
“That’s great!” Blackie slapped his knee. “And I suppose you feel the same way?” he asked of Johnny.
“Sure do,” was Johnny’s prompt reply. “They can’t come too tough for me.”
“Can’t come too tough for little old Johnny.” There was a sneer in Jack Mayhorn’s voice. “But he’s afraid to set traps or carry a rifle.”
“Not afraid,” Johnny replied quietly. “Just don’t want to.”
“Tell us, Blackie,” Joe, the store-keeper, broke in, sensing a possible row, “tell us how you got that leg.”